


dream of some epiphany

by dottie_wan_kenobi



Series: January Prompt Event [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Adoption, Angst, Baby Harry Potter, Canonical Character Death, Family, Family Dynamics, Grief/Mourning, M/M, POV Sirius Black, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin Raise Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28524648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dottie_wan_kenobi/pseuds/dottie_wan_kenobi
Summary: Sirius slips his wand out of his sleeve as he stomps to his bike. Too loud, he says, “I’mgoing, Hagrid. Don’t stand in my way.”Hagrid pulls himself to his full height and says again, a warning in his voice, “Black—”Sirius stuns him and leaves without looking back.
Relationships: Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: January Prompt Event [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087082
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55
Collections: Bat Family 18+ Discord Server January Prompt Event





	dream of some epiphany

**Author's Note:**

> **Additional warnings:** Sirius is grieving and thinks about James and Lily's bodies several times, plus he thinks about how there are many people that he knows that are dead. There's some talk of harm to children, namely the fact that Voldemort wanted to kill a baby. There's a few mentions of abuse from Walburga, and a few other mentions of violence when it's related to the Black family.
> 
> This was not beta'd and was written in about a day (the first chapter, anyway). A friend read the first part and said they teared up so you might want tissues!
> 
> Written for the Day 3 prompts: Adoption | “I never asked to have you in my life.”
> 
> Fic titles come from Epiphany by Taylor Swift
> 
> Forgot to say but, I firmly disagree with JKR’s disgusting transphobic views. If you agree with her, you’re not welcome here.

“Dumbledore’s orders,” Hagrid says, firm even though he’s choked up. “Ah’ve gotta take ‘im.”

Sirius looks down at the baby in his arms. His brown skin is pallid and sticky with tears and snot. His eyes—so green, so alive, so frightened—are open and they haven’t left Sirius’s face for even a minute. Under his breath, he’s mumbling nonsense, broken up every once in a while with recognizable words. He only knows a few—Mum, Dad, Pads, cat, and bwoom.

“Of course broom is his first word,” Lily had complained good-naturedly, insisting her point stood even though he couldn’t quite say the ‘r’.

Sirius’s eyes sting as he recalls her upstairs, staring blankly upwards. He’d shut her eyelids, saying a little Wizarding prayer for a peaceful rest. But here’s Harry, those same eyes locked onto him, his little fists curled tightly in Sirius’s robes.

“I’m his godfather,” he says to Hagrid. He has to clear his throat twice before he finally gets ahold of himself. “He belongs with me.”

Hagrid hesitates, and for a moment, they both stare at Harry, who’s still chattering anxiously. “Pads, Pads,” he says, kicking his feet in the blanket wrapped around him. 

He’s shivering, the poor thing, and though Sirius has never felt particularly fatherly, he readjusts Harry on his hip, pulling the blanket tighter. If he were like James, he would start cooing about how he was sorry it’s cold and how he’ll make it better. But he’s not James. James is dead. 

(Harry’s face is so much like James’s, and all Sirius can see for a moment is James, dead, on the stairs with a frozen expression of horror and anger. Lifeless eyes that Sirius had to close. If there was one person on this earth who deserved peace and everything good that came with the afterlife, whatever the afterlife may be, it was James.)

“He’s cold,” Sirius says. His voice is too blank, he can tell Harry doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t want to start bawling or screaming or laughing. With a tight hold on his emotions, he looks to Hagrid, putting on airs he knows the more timid man will respond to. “I’ll be taking him, then.”

“But Dumbledore said—”

Sirius frankly doesn’t care what the man says. He respects him, he’ll listen to him any other day, but not about this. Not now. Not Harry. “It doesn’t matter. Listen, you tell him—tell him I need to speak with him. Tell him there’s a _secret_ he doesn’t know about, say it just like that. But Harry will be staying with me whether he likes it or not.”

Too aggressive. He knows it as soon as it comes out. But he’s thinking about Peter—telling Dumbledore that they pulled a fast one on him will not be fun, but maybe they’ll let him be there when they hunt the rat down—and he can’t help the anger. Peter and fucking Voldemort have already taken James and Lily away from him. Dumbledore will have to pry Harry from his cold, dead hands, and then fight off his ghost too.

“Black—”

Sirius slips his wand out of his sleeve as he stomps to his bike. Too loud, he says, “I’m _going_ , Hagrid. Don’t stand in my way.”

Hagrid pulls himself to his full height and says again, a warning in his voice, “Black—”

Sirius stuns him and leaves without looking back.

* * *

He doesn’t go to the flat, he’s not stupid. That’ll be the first place they look for him. He doesn’t go to Grimmauld either—he couldn’t be _paid_ to go there.

It’s not worth returning to Peter’s flat, either, to look for clues or to hunker down. It was barren when he left. Not good for a baby. Fuck, why didn’t he grab any of Harry’s things before he left?

(Because he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Lily’s corpse.)

He can’t think of anywhere else to go. Marlene is dead. Dorcas is dead. Mary fled the second she graduated. The Prewett brothers are dead, and though he knows their sister has kids and has helped the Order a bit, he also knows going there would be stupid. She’ll no doubt be on Dumbledore’s side. Who else is there? Everyone else is dead or loyal to Dumbledore, or they’re Remus who is both loyal to him and quite furiously suspicious of Sirius.

(He closes his eyes, squeezing them just for a moment, as he thinks of Remus. What he wouldn’t give to have him there. The Remus he’d known back in school—the prefect, the one who could smile and laugh and joke as easily as breathing—or the one who’d held Harry when he was born and cried, or fuck even the one who’d—the last time they saw each other, weeks ago now—whispered so James wouldn’t hear, “I can’t do this anymore,” and broke up with him.)

He shakes the memories away and looks around, needing something to distract him. _Where can he go?_ He asks himself again.

The Leo constellation catches his eye as he tries to think.

Wait. Andromeda. His cousin might be willing to take him in.

But then he remembers she has a young daughter. She didn’t join the Order, and though she never told him so herself, he knows it was to protect Nymphadora.

He can’t put her daughter in danger.

Uncle Alphard is dead. Narcissa married to Voldemort’s right-hand-man. The thought of turning to Bellatrix or his mother is laughable and insane. Bellatrix would strike him dead and murder Harry without a second thought—he shudders as he thinks about her cackle being the last thing he ever heard. Mother would flay him alive and put his head on the wall next to all the elves, a reminder for future generations not to get themselves burned out of the family and then come crawling back.

Harry makes a noise against his neck, a snuffle and a cry of annoyance at being held so tightly within the confines of Sirius’s jacket. “Paaaaads,” he whines, his voice just barely breaking through the roar of the wind.

“You’re alright,” he says, letting go of one of the handlebars to shift Harry more securely on his lap. “You’re okay, Prongslet. I’ll make everything be okay.”

There’s really only one place he can go. A place no one would think to look for him at.

* * *

Once the sun comes up, he casts a disillusionment spell and forces himself onward, no matter how badly he wants to drop to the ground and scream and scream. It feels more real now that the sun is up. James and Lily are dead. It’s not some horrible nightmare.

Harry wiggles against his chest and cries and sleeps and tugs on his hair so hard it rips out. He screams, “PADS!” when he wants attention and Sirius tries to give it to him without actually dropping them from the sky. 

He’s exhausted when they finally get to the large estate in the French country side. They land in the grass and Sirius sits there for a long time, holding Harry and trying to get the tingling in his entire lower body to go away. It doesn’t work, and with Harry squirming and trying to eat his own fingers, he knows he has to get up and get it over with.

What does one say to the grandparents they haven’t spoken to in years? What can he possibly say? _Hey, thanks for not sticking up for me when Mother kicked me out. I’m totally over it now because way more awful shit has happened to me. Anyway, can I come live with you? Not just me but my godson as well? We can just ignore the whole “I was your heir” thing too, huh?_

Right. He’ll be lucky if they don’t spit in his face. They’ve never particularly liked Dumbledore, but honestly, if they rat him out to him, he can’t say he’ll be surprised. 

There’s no trust. Not for anyone anymore. Everyone is dead or loyal to Dumbledore, or they’re Remus, or they’re Harry.

He’d said he’d never go back to his family. The only hope he’d ever, ever held out was for Regulus, but Regulus is dead now and a Death Eater besides.

He trudges all the way up the winding path. There’s nothing inside of him, no emotions or memories, no grief or rage. He just holds Harry tighter and pulls his blanket closer around his little shoulders.

He knocks on the door and stands there for a long while. Finally, an elf opens the door. Sirius remembers her—she’s been in the family his entire life. “Pipsy,” he says, “I need to speak to Grandfather.”

“Mas—Mister Black,” she stumbles. “I—I will be telling him.”

She lets him step inside and closes the door behind him before popping away. He stands there and rocks Harry the way he saw Lily do, trying to breathe through the overwhelming feeling of Black family magic. It’s been years since he felt so much of it at once, generations worth of layers. If he’d been kicked out a year later, after he was seventeen, he would’ve been taken ‘round all of the properties to lay his own wards and protections over top the rest.

“I’ve got us, Harry,” he murmurs. He doesn’t want to think about anything right now but if his grandparents will let him stay.

* * *

Pipsy appears again after a few minutes and guides him through to the sitting room. Sirius spent several summers here as a child, fond times spent with all of his cousins and brother around (and being pranked, of course). It all looks the same as it did then, just smaller since he’s grown quite a bit since he was eight years old. Still, he stumbles and almost takes a wrong turn, and avoids a door he remembers housed his father’s room while they stayed here. 

When he steps through the doorway, his eyes immediately find Grandmother Melania. She looks the same as she did the last time he saw her, if a bit more wrinkly. Her black skin is mostly smooth and unblemished, her long hair pulled into twists that are turning gray. Her brown eyes are trained right on him, and they’re—soft. He swallows, stepping further into the room, and doesn’t let himself hope that she’ll be on his side in this.

Grandfather Arcturus looks the same as well. Pale white, his severe features are just as frightening as they ever were. The fact that his hair—also graying—is piled into a thin bun on the top of his head doesn’t detract from the effect. They’re both dressed in comfortable house clothes, but rings adorn his fingers, his wand held deceptively lightly.  
“My grandson,” he says, his voice a low boom that demands attention.

Sirius snaps to, his spine straightening and his shoulders stiffening. _Be a good boy,_ his mother’s voice hisses in his year. _Be a great pureblood. Be a better Black. It all begins with how you present yourself. I will not have a slouch for a son._

How he fucking hates his family. Maybe this was stupid. Maybe he should’ve run to America. Maybe he should’ve gone to Hogwarts and told Dumbledore to his face that Peter’s the bloody traitor and Sirius would kill the old coot if he tried to take Harry away.

Harry distracts him with a cry, and Sirius’s posture falls as he scrambles to keep hold of the little boy. Harry tries to climb up his chest, tugging on his clothing and hair, and whimpers as he thrusts his face into the crook of Sirius’s neck.

“Back again, are you?” Grandfather asks, eyeing them both coolly.

“Arcturus,” Grandmother murmurs, gently resting her hand on his wrist. Everyone has always listened to her. A Hufflepuff in a snake pit, she’s perfected a way of commanding the family from beside the Head of House. Louder, she beckons Sirius closer. “Come here, my boy. It’s been too long.”

“Too long since he was a respectable Black?” Grandfather asks. “Too long since he ran off to those hippies?”

“Too long since I’ve hugged him,” she corrects, and stands. 

Her slippers slide against the wood flooring as she approaches, her arms opened wide. She doesn’t touch him, waiting for him to take the last few steps and fall into her arms, Harry held between them. He has to bend at the waist, and doesn’t let go of the baby, just presses his forehead to her shoulder. She embraces him, one arm around his waist and the other coming up to cradle the back of his head. He has memories of sitting in her lap as a child, eating ice cream beside her, crying into her chest after particularly bad nightmares. She smells the same—like her perfume, a flowery sunny scent, and like the fireplace, and like his old home.

Home now means something different. Someone different. (James, James dead, James on the steps—)

She’s a comfort all the same. His eyes heat up and he slams them shut, trying to lean into her without bowling her right over.

“Let’s sit, love,” she says, and directs him to the sofa across from their armchairs. He goes easily, letting her settle him down and leaning into her side once she sits next to him. One hand comes up to rest on his back and rubs in circles, and—it’s surreal, being here. He thought he’d never see them again. Now James and Lily are dead, and Peter’s a traitor, and gods only know where Remus is, and he’s got Harry and he’s sitting here being held by _Grandmother Melania_ and—

“Oh, you poor darlings,” she says, soft and tutting like she did when Regulus scraped his knee or when Bellatrix pulled Narcissa’s hair too hard. “I heard about your friends. Poor, poor children.”

“Y-you heard?” He shouldn’t be surprised. Attacks like that are always in the paper. And considering he can only assume that Voldemort was the one who came and killed them, of course the news will spread.

She keeps rubbing his back. Sirius doesn’t dare look across to Grandfather yet. He needs to hear this first.

“They’re saying You-Know-Who is dead.”

“Dead?” He splutters. He hadn’t thought about how Harry was alive yet, honestly. He’d been struck by his best friends’ bodies and their crying child, and then escaping here. Now, he turns to the baby, realizations hitting him at once. Of course he’s seen the scar already—it’s thin, branching out across his forehead and down through his eyebrow, and pale enough to stand out starkly against his skin—but he hadn’t let himself think about what caused it.

A killing curse. 

Voldemort wouldn’t have gone to their home and killed James, killed Lily, and not turn his wand on his actual target. Insane bastard was truly convinced that a baby had to be taken out, found at any cost and killed because of a bloody prophecy. Sirius gingerly reaches up to touch it, finding the skin hot and tender. Harry flinches away and painfully cries, “ _Pads!_ ”

“Oh, Prongslet, I’m sorry. Does that hurt? Do you have an owie?”

Harry nods, eyes watering and lip pouted out. (He’s reminded, suddenly, of James with his hands clasped under his chin, chanting, “Please oh _please_ , Pads, I’ll do anything—”)  
He’d had suspicions Lily had a plan to save Harry, but he never asked, not wanting to spend what little time he had with them talking about depressing things. Whatever it was, it had to be strong, maybe old, probably very powerful Light magic. 

He’s going to figure it out, he vows to himself. Someday, as soon as possible. He’ll make sure Lily didn’t die in vain. But for now, he needs to hold Harry tighter and thank his lucky stars that it kept his godson alive.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [dottie-wan-kenobi](https://dottie-wan-kenobi)
> 
> If you liked this, please consider leaving a comment, thank you! <3


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